Whatever Happened to Tuesday and So Slow
by biohazardgirl
Summary: 30 kisses for Troy and Abed.
1. epidemic

Troy is staring at the Air Conditioning control box, willing himself closer so that he can save his friends. The last time there was this much pressure, he cracked and broke, but this is serious now; everyone's lives depend on him making it out alive.

Hopefully, being a nerd will be enough, because he just wants to go home and sleep for years. The room is rank with illness, and the darkness is casting shadows on his face; it's probably incredibly cinematic, but he's not Abed and can't quite think of which zombie movie it would be. He prays that it's one without a real apocalypse, because his mom is gonna be so mad if he lets the whole world get infected by zombies.

He's hitting his friends in the face and it hurts, but he tells himself it's ok because their eyes are dead and they won't remember a thing when they wake up. His breath thrums in his ears; he's not quite sure what he's saying anymore, but for Abed's sake he hopes that it's clever. As he leans back to push Shirley out of the way (and if she were herself she'd give him a talking to, but he doesn't have time to think about that right now), a figure comes out of the swarm and grabs his arm; it's Abed. Troy feels his face soften, feels how much he loves Abed, and gazes into his eyes, pleading.

"Abed, we're friends-"

Abed rears back his head, mouth wide, and bites down hard on Troy's shoulder. He rubs his mouth on it, gnawing and sucking, and Troy thinks faintly _Oh, this is what it's like_- before the reality sinks in and he's running again, choking on himself and on time.


	2. fall from graceglory

"I know you're not sleeping. I can hear you rustling up there," Abed called up to the top bunk.

It was the night after The War, and although he had been up for the better part of two days, he still couldn't sleep. The magical friendship hats had been a great quick fix to stop their final battle, but now that the reality of the fight was sinking in, he could feel a cold brick settling uncomfortably in the bottom of his stomach; it was making him restless. Troy's insomnia, unfortunate as it was, comforted him. At least he wasn't going to be sleepless and worried alone.

Troy tilted his head over the edge of the bed. There were bags under his eyes. Abed wondered if he looked as exhausted as Troy did.

"This is worse than the first time I slept across the hall from that evil troll," he said in a solemn voice. "What do you think we should do?"

Abed considered the question for a moment. "I think we should watch a movie," he said.

"That sounds awesome," said Troy. Abed heard Troy throw the blankets off of himself. He began to climb down the ladder. "Kickpuncher?"

The suggestion was made in a quiet voice, and his face was soft as he gazed at Abed between the slats of the ladder. Abed sat up and nodded his head enthusiastically; the movie was comfortable, safe, and perfect for the occasion. He ducked out of the bottom bunk and stood up as Troy finished descending the ladder. Troy smiled; it wasn't as wide as usual, but it was something.

"Cool. Cool cool cool."

Their handshake was hesitant, but the familiar kiss of their palms felt like a step in the right direction.


	3. unexpected

"I can't believe I'm thirty-five and still playing truth or dare," Jeff said. He gazed down into his near-empty glass of scotch, and swirled it around.

"You're not even playing! You just keep drinking to skip your turn," said Troy indignantly. He glared at Jeff, who rolled his eyes. Apparently it would take much more than two glasses of scotch and a touchy-feely boys' night in Apartment 303 to get Jeff to bare his soul.

"Jeff's self conscious about being seen as emotionally or physically compromised. He can't be a cool antihero without a tough exterior," said Abed. He hiccupped. "Otherwise he'd just be a hero. He doesn't want that kind of responsibility."

"That's completely untrue. I just think you guys have an unfair advantage. You're too close to each other for there to be any risk involved in playing." He began raising his glass to his lips, but Troy leaned over from where he was sitting and capped it with his hand. Abed's hand landed on top of his when he did so.

"No more drinking outside of the game," said Troy and Abed simultaneously.

Jeff lowered his glass and rolled his eyes. He crossed his legs and placed the scotch between them on the floor.

"Nice catch, buddy," said Troy. He grinned at Abed; Abed made finger guns and mimed shooting them in response.

"Every time I give either one of you a challenge, you just give each other conspiratorial 'we've done this before' looks. I'm not revealing anything until you've tried something new," said Jeff.

Troy clenched his fingers slightly against the floor; his heart sped up. There was something that he knew came up a lot in truth or dare games, something that Troy had always wanted to try, but Abed would never-

"Ok. Troy: truth or dare?" said Abed.

"Dare!" Troy blurted out far too quickly. He scolded himself inwardly; he'd been trying to play it cool the whole game. However, there really wasn't any need to worry about his excitement because-

"Troy, I dare you to kiss me," said Abed matter of factly.

"I. . ." Troy said. He could feel his mouth gaping. Beside him, he saw that Jeff had sat up a little straighter now that the game was becoming. . .interesting, apparently.

"Do you accept the dare? I say that you should. Watching Jeff open up is fascinating, and you haven't seen it yet," said Abed. He cocked his head at Troy, waiting for the answer.

"I. . .yeah. I'll kiss you, Abed. I accept the dare," he said, trying to sound sure instead of surprised and nervous and all of the other feelings that he didn't even want to think about. He began adjusting to get up off of the floor, but there was no need. Abed was faster than him and had quickly closed the space between them.

Up close, Abed's big, dark eyes were gorgeous; Troy had known this almost as long as he had known the man, but they seemed especially striking now. The way Abed's inner concentration was discernible through the haze of alcohol and was entirely focused on him-Troy's breath caught in his throat. He mentally scolded himself again; he wasn't supposed to find this hot, because it was just a dare.

Abed cupped Troy's face gently in his hand, and kissed him. His lips were pleasantly soft, no doubt due to a frequent application of chapstick. Troy could smell Abed's familiar smell and see his long eyelashes brushing against his own face. Tentatively he weaved his fingers into Abed's hair and kissed back. Shortly after, too soon, Abed pulled away. Instinctively, Troy touched his mouth. Abed scooted back to his original seat without comment.

Troy looked over at Jeff; his eyes were wide.

"Well, that was. . .unexpected," Jeff said.

"Yeah. . .it was," said Troy, dazed. He blinked hard, and tried to regain focus.

"Wow. . .I guess I can't really avoid playing now without seeming like a dick," said Jeff.

Abed and Troy shook their heads in unison.

"It's. . .it's my turn now, right?" asked Troy, glancing at Abed. Abed smiled slightly.

"Time to deconstruct the antihero," he said.

Troy smiled back, and said, "Ok, then. Jeff: Truth or Dare?"


	4. underground

The inky water splashed cinematically underneath their feet as they ran through the dilapidated tunnels of Greendale. For the entire three years that Abed had studied there, all of the entrances had been cheaply boarded up with thin plywood barriers to prevent students' access to the sheer level of decay inside of them. However, when attackers from a rival paintball mob had chased Troy and Abed to a tunnel entrance under the threat of killing or capturing them, Abed had instead taken a third option and had begun dismantling the plywood with his foot and the butt of his gun. Troy had frantically followed Abed's lead, and so together they had escaped into the no-man's land.

The tunnels, dark and seedy as they were, fit the noir theme perfectly. The walls shone silver and black with mold, and Abed could hear insects and rodents skittering around close by. Breaths and footsteps echoed around him, near disembodied for the darkness, but comforting all the same in their familiarity. Troy and Abed had both lost their cell phones to the mob; their only source of light now was a miniature flashlight that was quickly dying out. Troy was aiming the bulb in all directions as they ran, desperately looking for an exit. As the small light skittered around the room, flashes of their bodies also became illuminated: an eye, a shoe, a hat fell in and out of sight.

"Abed, do you see that?" said Troy in an excited tone. He pointed his light over to what was clearly a boarded up hole.

"Clear as crystal," said Abed. The both of them ran in the direction of the light, stopping when they reached the mouth of the tunnel. Abed put his ear to the plywood, and listened to the outside world.

"What do you hear?" asked Troy, his voice hushed.

The outside was full of murmured voices and pattering feet. One, two, six shots were fired on the outside, audible even without an ear pressed to the wood. Troy's eyes widened in fear. Abed pulled his ear away and said, "I won't lie. We made our beds, and we're probably going to have to sleep in them."

"Are these the same beds as the fishes that people sleep with, and if so, why did we make the beds on top of the fishes?" asked Troy, pulling out his gun.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Either way, it's probably the end, kiddo," said Abed solemnly. He grabbed his gun out of his back pocket. "If there's anything you wanted to say to me, you should probably say it now or forever hold your peace."

On the outside, more gunshots rang out; a red paintball hit the moist plywood, and some of it came out whole on their side. Troy shone the flashlight on his face.

"Kiss me," he said, urgently.

There wasn't even time to question it, and Abed was glad. He pushed Troy against the wall, wrapped his gun hand around Troy's back, cupped his face with the other, and kissed Troy as if he were dying. Troy's breath was shallow against his; he tasted like mint and the polish that they'd used that morning to shine their shoes. His tongue was slick, and he grasped at Abed's back desperately as if he too knew that some level of the end of their world was near.

Another gunshot hit the plywood; Abed pulled away.

"We have to go," he said. Troy nodded. The both of them placed the butts of their guns to the wood in preparation to break through it. Troy smiled, his eyes watery.

"Hey, Abed. I'll see you on the other side," he said. Abed nodded with grim determination, and together they battered their way into the unknown.


	5. mode of transportation

"I think if you just push a little harder, we can get out of this spot," Troy said, rolling down the window. Chunks of ice scattered into the car as the window slipped inside it; they melted as they fell to the floor. The chill winter air hit with the force of a brick, drying out his nose and making him cough. They _would_ get stuck on the coldest day of the year.

"I can't. I've even tried channeling the Hulk and the Thing, but it's just not working. We're stuck," said Abed, walking around to the front of the car. He ducked his head to Troy's window, crossed his arms, and rested them on the sill. He set his chin on top of them, and gave Troy a defeated look. Troy frowned slightly, and brushed some snow off of Abed's hat. It scattered in all directions, a miniature snowstorm in a snowstorm. One of those directions was Abed's face; tiny snowflakes landed on the slightly pink tip of Abed's nose and on top of his long eyelashes, twinkling briefly before their inevitable demise at the hands of internal body heat.

"Ok. You should get in the car, man. You look freezing," said Troy sympathetically.

Abed made an affirmative noise; his nose exuded visible frosty air. He jogged over to the passenger side of the car, yanked the door open, quickly folded his lanky body inside, and slammed the door shut. Troy rolled up the window as he did so to regain the former warm temperature of the car. Abed was shivering slightly, and was removing his thin wet gloves from his hands. He rolled them up, and tossed them into the backseat.

"Taking off wet clothes saves body heat," he said. Troy nodded and removed his own wet gloves, remnants from when he had been the one trying to push the car. Abed's fingers were shaking; Troy took Abed's hands in his own, and rubbed them.

"What should we do now?" asked Troy. Abed frowned and pulled his hands away. He began rifling through the glove box.

"Do you have a small phone book in here?" he asked.

"Uh. . .maybe? I don't really know what's in there. The last one to use that box was probably my mom when this was her car," said Troy sheepishly.

Abed nodded, and continued digging around. Papers and knickknacks fell to the floor as he rifled around in the glove box; a red hot wheels car zoomed over Abed's forearm and fell to the floor. Troy picked it up and thumbed at the wheels absentmindedly before dropping it back on the floor. Finally, Abed extracted a small red book with yellow pages and a smeared picture of a smiling woman on the cover.

"Phone book: Greendale Colorado, 2003. Old, but probably still serviceable," said Abed.

"Are we gonna call someone to tow us? Do those numbers even still work? 2003 was like ten years ago," said Troy. Abed rustled the pages with his thumb thoughtfully.

"We don't really have any other choices. None of our friends have four wheel drive either," he said. He flipped the book open to the 't' section. Troy leaned over his shoulder to look at the contacts inside.

"Is that one called the Grumpy Dutchman?" he asked, giggling, "We should definitely-"

"Call that one, I agree," Abed said, smiling slightly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Towed by a grumpy Dutchman. That sounds like a ghost story. Like, it's late at night and they're in a car in the woods-

"And a grumpy Dutchman with a hooked hand comes by-" said Abed, dialing the number. He put the phone up to his ear.

"And they need help. 'Please tow us Mr. Dutchman-" said Troy, smiling.

"He gets his truck. There's a storm outside, for thematic purposes-"whispered Abed, hand covering the mouthpiece

"What they don't know is that he's actually looking for revenge on the person who made him grumpy before he died," said Troy. He set his chin on Abed's shoulder, and awkwardly curved his right arm under Abed's left, lacing their fingers together.

Abed nodded, a small smile on his face. Someone answered the phone on the other end; Abed sat up a little straighter in response. Troy had never told Abed, but he loved watching him talk to business-y people on the phone. He put on a certain air that convinced just about anyone to help them, and for cheap too. Troy wasn't sure what character or archetype he was copying, but whoever it was, it _worked._

"Hi, my name is Abed Nadir. My boyfriend and I are stuck in our car at the corner of 15th Street South and Roanoke Avenue. We're in a blue sedan. Do you think you can come get us un-stuck?" He nodded his head alongside whatever the person was saying on the other end, "Ok, thanks. Bye."

"Did you get someone to come save us?" asked Troy. Abed nodded.

"They'll be here in twenty minutes," said Abed. He squeezed Troy's hand, "You always touch me when I'm on the phone."

Troy felt his face go hot, "I just really like the voice you use. It's all. . .authoritative. And you looked. . .cold so I had to warm up your. . .hand. And your ear. With my breath."

"Well, I am still pretty cold, and we do have twenty minutes. We could probably spend it warming up the rest of our faces," said Abed. He paused. "That was innuendo. Was it clear? I meant that we should make out until the tow truck arrives."

He tilted his head at an awkward angle towards Troy's face; their lips met.

"If the grumpy Dutchman really is a serial killer, we're going to be that couple that dies first," murmured Troy.

"I think I can live with that," said Abed.

"Me too," said Troy. They kissed again, hungrier and deeper as they waited through the quiet winter afternoon for their savior to come.

It was almost disappointing that he wasn't a serial killer, but he was actually a grumpy Dutchman, and Troy supposed that that was enough.


	6. consensus

"People are probably going to talk about us this year." Abed said, scrunching his wig in the mirror. Troy paused from his zippering efforts (why did fur have to get stuck so easily in everything?) to tilt his head up and shoot a grin at Abed.

"Cuz our costumes are so awesome, right? Your wig is probably the best thing I've ever seen," said Troy. Then with a resounding tug, the zipper finally agreed to move again; miraculously it stayed on course all the way up to Troy's neck. He laughed, picked up his tiger hat off of the tile floor, and pulled it onto his head. Resting his chin on Abed's shoulder, he rumpled the hairpiece affectionately. Abed nodded, thoughtful.

"They are pretty great, but I'm thinking more in terms of how other people view our relationship. People get prizes for coming in pairs to Vicki's party- combined with alcohol we have an episode primed for resolving sexual tension. They'll be wondering why you didn't choose Britta to be your partner," he said, turning his head to look at Troy. Their faces were at an awkward angle, but Troy didn't mind; he loved Abed up close with his soft eyes and bony features, and at the moment it was important to keep him close. He grabbed Abed's left hand in his, and squeezed, his face serious.

"Couple costumes are our tradition. And just because our relationship has shifted a little to make room for a third person doesn't mean that has to change if other people don't understand that," said Troy. Abed hummed noncommittally, and squeezed Troy's hand in return.

"Four years ago you would have cared," he said, his face near-unreadable. Troy was glad that a nice fact about love was that it was a good response to just about everything.

"Four years ago I didn't have a lot of awesome stuff. I'd never met the study group, and I'd never seen Alien. I didn't have this kickass apartment, and I'd never played paintball or blazer tag. I'd never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or, well, whatever it is you, me, and Britta are doing right now. High school me would have cared only because he wouldn't have known how great all of this stuff is, and if anyone wants to judge us for it-"

"They're just jealous," finished Abed alongside Troy. He smiled slightly at the familiar consensus. Troy nodded, grinning, and detangled himself. He leaned down to pick up his tail, and fumbled clumsily with it at the back until it was pinned in a vague approximation of where it would be if he were actually a tiger. When his costume was finally all put together on him, he smiled and faced Abed.

"Ready to go now?" he said, holding out his hand. Abed grabbed it and said,

"Almost. Before we go, I just want to to say- I never planned for your character's arc to go this way when I tried to put us all together four years ago, but I'm really glad it did. It's been a compelling ride."

"Dude, that's like, one of the highest compliments I've ever heard you give anyone. I never cry, but-"

"I am going to kiss you now," said Abed as Troy thumbed away whatever had gotten into his eye. Troy sniffled, laughed, and nodded; Abed pulled him over to kiss him full on the mouth, and it didn't matter that their relationship had changed, really, or that maybe they were doing it wrong. More and more now Troy was getting the feeling that everyone else was doing it wrong too, and if his 'wrong' involved making out with Abed while dressed as Calvin and Hobbes- well, maybe other people could just keep their comments to themselves because they didn't know what they were missing.


End file.
